


Turn The Page

by prettyjk



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bad Decisions, Betrayal, Coercion, Emotions, Eventual Smut, M/M, Obsession, Pining, Stalking, Underage Sex, Unhealthy Relationships, Wistful
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:33:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29021277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyjk/pseuds/prettyjk
Summary: He'd watched for long enough to know. He had to submit to the horrifying ordeal of being known. How else was he meant to crawl under his classmate's skin? How else was he meant to glean a taste, if not by extending his tongue as far as it could reach?----------------------------------------------------Nomin highschool AU obsession/stalker fic. Bound to contain disturbing themes, please pay attention to tags and chapter notes :)
Relationships: Lee Jeno/Na Jaemin
Comments: 7
Kudos: 53





	1. Chapter 1

He'd watched for long enough to know; he had to submit to the horrifying ordeal of being known. How else was he meant to crawl under his classmate's skin? How else was he meant to glean a taste, if not by extending his tongue as far as it could reach?

Media Studies class, aka 'An Excuse To Watch Movies Which Is Still Somehow In The Curriculum'. It didn't matter if the subject made sense or not, you'd have to be slightly stupid not to take it, or so Na Jaemin reasoned. For one thing, they watched one movie a week, using up two out of five of their 50-minute classes a week. If it was a movie you liked, then it was a nice reprieve from the rest of the day's monotony; if it _wasn't_ a movie you were interested in, you could fuck around as much as you wanted. The other three periods were spent analysing that week's movie, going over themes, motifs, and cinematic technique. 

The teacher completely disengaged during movie periods, too, so her and the class struck up a natural and comfy accord. In the near-dark, the only light was at the front of the room, the overhead projector trained on the blank expanse of the whiteboard. As long as Jaemin and his fellow classmates stayed quiet, it was chill for everyone involved.

Beside the obvious perks of Media Studies, the class held another drawcard, this one even bigger and shinier, and far more highly prized. His desk was in the back row, just like Jaemin's, except closer to the door on the right side of the room. Jaemin's desk was, in his opinion, in the best spot in the room, being both at the back _and_ right next to the window. The view wasn't anything to lose your mind over, just the soccer field carpeted in dying grass, but at least it was _something,_ other than the classroom's navy blue walls and haphazardly pinned posters.

There was one such poster on the back wall behind Jaemin, and he'd spent the first three months of the school year thus far trying to figure out why it seemed so off. 'HAVE YOU RETURNED ANY LATE LIBRARY BOOKS? IF YOU DON'T, SOMEONE ELSE WILL!' was written in bright orange font in a blue speech bubble, drifting up from a slightly pixellated clipart of an owl with a monocle. Said owl looked about as comfortable as the colour combo of orange against blue, and the slogan was vaguely threatening, in a way that was equal parts eerie and funny.

Jaemin found himself repeating the second half of that quip alarmingly often in his head when he was in Media Studies class. _"If you don't, someone else will!"._ It bounced around his brain like a dog chasing it's tail, never really eventuating to anything, just making itself comfortable. He wondered if Lee Jeno thought the same thing, looking at the owl poster, if he even looked at it at all. He certainly didn't look over to Jaemin's side of the room often, and Jaemin would know, because he watched him devotedly.

They were in the same row, only two other desks between them, but it may as well have been the Pacific Ocean. Jeno simply never looked his way, barely looked up from his notebook unless it was a movie period, in which case he kept his eyes glued to the projection on the whiteboard. If he could feel Jaemin's eyes on him, he made no indication of it- he didn't talk to anyone else in the class, didn't even gaze out the window, just watched the movie or kept his nose in his notebook.

He drew pictures- Jaemin knew, he'd seen them, using the guise of throwing his trash in the bin by the door to sweep his eyes over Jeno's desk on the way. They were bold things, mostly vivid shapes in stark black ink, hard to make out with just a passing glance. Jaemin could pick up vague geometric shapes, little sketchy lines, barely any words on the page. Jeno's doodling no doubt _looked_ like note-taking to the teacher, sitting at her desk at the front of the class- all she'd see was a quiet student with their eyes trained on their book, pen working away at the paper. It struck Jaemin as oddly impressive, the other boy's disregard for their bookwork, especially since he knew his grades were still good.

Jeno was, simply, _fascinating_ to Jaemin in every conceivable way, and he was at a loss as to what he could do about it. To stop now was out of the question. It'd been three months, three months of watching, of coveting, of daydreaming. That Jeno was beautiful was a fact not lost on Jaemin. He had a strong jaw, bright eyes, a nose that would be too big on any other face, but just looked handsome on his. His shoulders were wide, sturdy-looking, and he bounced his knee compulsively, cracking his knuckles every twenty or so minutes. A wince twisted his features every time the joints popped, but he still kept doing it habitually. It was kind of cute to watch, and that notion made Jaemin feel slightly helpless. 

At the end of each Media Studies period, Jeno would be among the first to exit the classroom, walking briskly with his black backpack slung over one shoulder. Jaemin barely saw him elsewhere in the school, not sharing any other classes with him. It was probably for the best; Jaemin didn't doubt how much jeopardy his education would be in, if he had Jeno to stare at in any of his other subjects. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning! I'm pretty interested to see how this one turns out, it's proving really fun to write ^-^ stick around for more, I'll try to update regularly :)


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

By time Jaemin got to it, Haechan and Jisung were already at their unofficially-official lunch table outside the science block. Haechan was laying on his back on one of the picnic table's long seats, a hand thrown over his eyes. The other seat was taken up by Jisung and his giant backpack, which was notoriously heavy and held all manner of things in its depths. Haechan had joked once that it weighed more than Jisung did, and he was probably right; Park Jisung was particularly tall, and particularly thin. He was also Jaemin's best friend (which Haechan was fully aware of, and just arrogant enough not to care about.)

"Move your boulder, Ji", Jaemin said lightly, dropping his own backpack unceremoniously onto the dead grass under the table. Jisung shoved his bag off the seat to join Jaemin's, and Haechan asked in a deadpan voice, "Holy shit, was that an earthquake? Why did the ground shake?"

"Your mom must've fallen over and the shockwave just got to us, asshole", Jisung quipped back. Haechan gasped in mock offense, still laying down and soaking up the sun. "Shut up about my mother, you brat, she's an _angel_." 

Jaemin just unwrapped his sandwich as he listened to his two friends bicker, passing the apple from his bag to sit on Haechan's side of the table. His mom insisted on putting an apple in his lunch, and he'd long since stopped complaining about it. She'd just make him pack it himself, anyway. Haechan blindly groped for the fruit with his free hand, taking a giant bite. The three of them were in companionable silence, until Jaemin decided to ask the question he'd been turning over in his head for two weeks.

"Do you guys know this guy in our grade, his name's... _Jano_ , I think? Last name's Lee?" He'd tried to keep his voice as neutral as possible, but he'd still felt it shake a little in his throat. He hadn't told the two guys about his... crush, not because he didn't trust them; he just felt oddly possessive over his feelings for Jeno, and he wanted to hold them close to his chest for the time being.

"Do you mean Lee _Jeno_? There's a guy with that name in my trigonometry class", Jisung said, looking over at Jaemin and crunching on baby carrots. " _Oh, Jeno,_ that's right!", Jaemin bluffed, "I _knew_ I was close. What's he like in trig? He basically never speaks when we're in media studies." Jisung didn't seem suspicious, just kept nibbling at his lunch for a moment before answering. "Yeah, he seems okay, he's pretty quiet in trig too. Why'd you ask?"

Haechan sat up to look at Jaemin from across the table. "Yeah, Jaem, why'd you ask?", he said in an accusatory voice, narrowing his eyes.

 _Goddamn Haechan and his gossip-senses,_ Jaemin cursed internally, scrambling to improvise.

"I dunno, I've been paired up with him to do this project starting next week, so I wanted to know if he was going to be a pain in the ass or not."

Haechan's scrutinising gaze softened as he easily accepted the lie, and Jaemin felt acutely like a bullet had just whistled past his head.

Haechan took a noisy bite of his apple, slurping the juice a little. "Shame," he said absently, "you could've gotten his number for me. That boy is hot as fuck and his triceps make me want to die violently."

Jisung choked audibly on his carrots at the casual confession, pink roses of blush blooming in his cheeks. Haechan just kept going, delighting in the younger boy's embarrassment. "He could choke-slam me into the pavement and I'd _thank_ him, Jisungie", he said, smiling widely. 

"Stop torturing the poor kid, Haechannie," Jaemin scolded, handing Jisung his water bottle to sip from. 

"Okay, I'm sorry for being gross, but you've gotta admit, Jeno is pretty fucking dreamy." Haechan laid back down, his hand thrown over his eyes again. 

"Whatever you say," Jaemin answered non-committedly, picking the crusts off the second half of his sandwich. 

He tried not to let the jealousy bubbling in his stomach dig it's roots in, but it was proving difficult. Haechan didn't know about his fixation on Jeno, but it still took him by surprise that he'd noticed how attractive Jeno was. Jaemin had been cultivating his admiration for the boy for months now, and it didn't sit well with him that others had been looking at Jeno with the same gaze as his. _He'd_ been putting his whole self into it, dreaming about Jeno while he was asleep and awake, learning his features by memory from the other side of the classroom. The fact that he hadn't spoken a single word to him was besides the point. Jeno _belonged_ to Jaemin. Haechan could keep his corrupting little hands off him. 


	3. Chapter 3

The weird part about his feelings for Jeno, Jaemin thinks, is that he very nearly hates him. Jeno has mannerisms that are so cute they make his heart feel crushed into pulp, but the very same habits can piss him off completely, seemingly on a whim. For example, when Jeno gets comfortable during movie periods in media class, he'll twirl a lock of his chestnut hair around a finger idly. Usually, the unconscious self-soothing action is nothing but endearing. Other times, however, the act seems childish and affected, put on for an audience, a deliberate bid to be cute, to distract Jaemin.

He isn't certain, but he could almost swear Jeno knows how badly his infatuation has become. Jeno never looks around when he watches him, never gives any indication that he knows, but that doesn't mean he _couldn't_. Maybe he notices how frequently Jaemin finds excuses to pass by his desk, or the way his pace will slow when he does it. The fact that he might give off signals that he himself doesn't even notice, is a fact not lost on Jaemin. What if the way he mirrors Jeno's route to media studies class, following a subtle distance behind him, isn't so subtle after all? What if, during the two or three times he and Jeno's eyes have met in passing, Jaemin's own eyes were shouting a silent confession? He'd practiced his poker face meticulously in the bathroom mirror, but he couldn't control his pupils dilating, or his nostrils flaring, or any other subtle tic that would portray excitement. 

Worse, still, are the even rarer moments of manic recklessness that have descended over him once or twice, the delicious urge to spill the beans, bare his soul, sell himself out. In the insulating darkness of their shared classroom, he stares at Jeno and imagines himself yelling to him, tossing his voice across the desks. "HEY! LEE JENO! Did you know I'm infatuated with you? That's right! I'm so obsessed that it should scare me, but it doesn't! You're all I think about, and hey, if that worries you, you really won't want to know what I dream about when I dream of you!" He could say it all with a smile on his face, with laughter in his voice. He doesn't want to know how Jeno would react to such a confession, but he also _does,_ god, he wants to know so fucking badly that it wrenches at his soul.

The way his feelings weave together and conflict is maddening, and it keeps him awake and staring at his ceiling for hours every night, chasing sleep half-heartedly. In these times, he watches the moon through the gap in the curtains, and wonders if Jeno's sleepless, too, looking at the same sky. It doesn't matter whether he is, or isn't; the thought is comforting enough to lull Jaemin to sleep almost every time. 

And still, Jaemin fucking hates him. He can be soothed asleep by thoughts of Jeno, and the next day in media class, he'll be sat at his desk, stomach roiling with anger, imagining what Jeno looks like when he bleeds. Sick fascination is one hell of a drug, and Jaemin is addicted. He's smart enough to know that Jeno is just the syringe- possessiveness is the substance that gets pushed into his veins, and it burns a path under his skin that isn't easily ignored.

Jaemin doesn't know what he'd do if Jeno actually spoke to him, but the concept has been tugging persistently at his brain for at least a week, and he's _this_ close to throwing caution to the wind and striking up a conversation. He runs through endless practice rounds in his head while he's meant to be identifying cinematic technique in The Shining. 

_Hi, Jeno, right? I'm Na Jaemin, I sit on the other side of the class, I wonder if you've ever seen me, ha ha. Do you have the notes from Friday's class? No, I wasn't there, I guess you didn't notice, I am pretty quiet! Ha ha ha. Thanks a lot bro, I owe you one!_

The dialogue is stilted even in his own head, so he can only imagine how awkward it'd be for both of them, if Jaemin were to try it in real life. It's so frustrating, sitting metres away from someone who feels more like lightyears away, and before he even realises it, he's pressed his pen so hard into his notebook that the end has pierced through five layers of paper. Glancing over at Jeno's desk doesn't help, the other boy looking so unbothered in his black hoodie and jeans, spinning a pencil in his fingers with lazy grace. 

_I hate you_ , Jaemin thinks hotly over and over, eyes boring into the side of Jeno's head. He has to slide his gaze swiftly off of the other boy when tears threaten to well up in his eyes. Jaemin's heart feels stuck in his throat.

 _It's too fucking much,_ he thinks, staring at the hole his pen tore through his paper. _It's too fucking much, and I can't do it much longer, and that scares me._ His skin burns coldly at the realisation. _I'm scared of who I am when I'm near him._

Jaemin is so lost in thought, that he doesn't realise class has ended until the lights come on again, he and the teacher the only two left in the room.


	4. Chapter 4

When Jeno shows up to class a week later with bleached-blonde hair, Jaemin's brain malfunctions.Jeno sits down at his desk, pulls out his notebook and his pen case, acting as though everything is normal, like he hasn't just tilted Jaemin's world on it's axis.

He looks so _good_ , the stark near-whiteness of his hair contrasts with the black clothes he always wears, making him even more striking than he usually is.

Jaemin just stares from across the classroom, and this time he doesn't think anyone would find it weird if they caught him doing it. A few girls at the front of the class are murmuring rapidly to each other, giggling and throwing not-so-subtle glances over their shoulders at Jeno periodically. Jeno doesn't seem to notice, his nose in his notebook at usual, but a sick sucker punch of jealousy buries itself in Jaemin's stomach anyway. 

_Stop looking at him,_ he hisses mentally at the girls, his jaw starting to cramp from how hard he's gritting his teeth. He wills himself to calm down, loosening his white-knuckled grip on the edge of his desk, staring out of the window without really seeing. When his breathing has settled, he looks over at Jeno again. He's so beautiful that it hurts, makes Jaemin's heart feel like a screwed up ball of paper, and they've never even had a conversation. Not for the first time, Jaemin wonders if there's something wrong with him. 

It seems to happen in slow motion- Jeno puts his pen down, cracks his knuckles, and turns his head, meeting Jaemin's gaze head-on. Jaemin feels his heart seize in his chest. His mouth goes dry, and he can feel cold sweat springing up on his forehead. He's at least been spared the embarassment of being caught open-mouthed, his lips pressed together hard enough to hurt. The glance seems to last forever, Jeno's face impassive, and it takes a second for Jaemin to realise that Jeno has black smudged over his lower lashline. He's wearing fucking _eyeliner_ , and it's game over for Jaemin.

He tears his eyes from Jeno's, shoves his notebook into his backpack haphazardly, bending several pages. Jaemin walks out of the classroom as fast as he can without running, and he can acutely feel Jeno's eyes on him as he rushes past his desk. 

Fuck class, he can skip a period, it's not as though he'd be able to concentrate anyway. 

Jaemin makes a beeline for the second floor bathroom, looking around to find it empty before he braces himself against one of the sinks. The flourescent lighting washes out his skin, and he looks deathly pale, splotches of bright pink flushing the apples of his cheeks. Jaemin runs the tap, splashes his face with cool water, all on autopilot. He dries his face off and looks critically at his reflection, trying to organise his thoughts.

The brown of his irises looks dull, his whites are bloodshot, and he knows he looks like shit. _Who are you?_ he wonders, staring himself down, trying to quell the flutter of his heart.

The sound of the door to the bathroom being opened startles him, but the voice that follows it is far worse. It's one he's heard in passing, answering questions their teacher asks, but it's never spoken directly to him before.

Jaemin turns towards the door, and watches Lee Jeno walk tentatively into the echoey space, shaking his newly blonde hair out of his eyes.

"Hey, dude, are you, are you okay?" he says uncertainly, his voice low and resonant. "You left your... your pencil case in class." He finishes awkwardly, standing a few paces away, holding the pencil case outstretched like an olive branch.

Jaemin meets his eyes, and the feeling is intense, being this close to Jeno. His heart feels like it's beating itself to death in his ribcage, and he reaches a hand out to take the pencil case. He knows his hand is trembling, but he can't make it stop, and Jeno is kind enough not to mention it if he notices. Jaemin can smell him over the bathroom's scent of cheap liquid soap- it's warm and spicy, but sweet somehow, too, cinnamon spiked with vanilla. He commits it to memory, putting the recollection in his pocket for later.

Jeno's eyes are kind behind their smudging of eyeliner, and Jaemin can't keep eye contact; it feels like looking into the sun, so he keeps his eyes trained on Jeno's doc martens as he answers.

"Thanks, I completely forgot. I was in a rush, I... wasn't feeling well," he mumbled, "thanks for bringing it to me."

There's a pause, and Jeno shifts on his feet. The awkwardness is almost palpable. Jaemin mutters his thanks again, glancing at Jeno's face for just a second, before he walks past him and out of the bathroom, controlling his pace until he's out of sight and down the stairs. It's only then that he allows himself to pause, sitting heavily on the last stair, feeling like he's about to throw up.

That's twice in one day that he's had an interaction with Jeno, the most he's had in weeks and weeks. Jeno _spoke_ to him- granted, it was in a highschool bathroom, but the fact remained. That he'd come after Jaemin when he'd stormed out of media studies struck him as both sweet and embarrassing. Why would he do that? It isn't like they have any kind of friendship, or even speak at all. Jaemin has been watching him from across the room for four months, dreaming about him, fantasising about him, and he's struck by the realisation that he never really expected that they'd actually... Interact. He knows it's stupid to get his hopes up, but now that they've actually spoken to one another, the ice has been broken, albeit haphazardly. 

When he crawls into bed that night, Jaemin tries to stop himself, but it's futile- he dips his hand under the waistband of his boxers, where his cock is already hard enough to hurt. He can't get the phantom scent of Jeno out of his mind, even though he knows, (at least logically), that there's no way he can still smell it. Jaemin imagines burying his face into Jeno's neck, inhaling that warm spiciness, running his hand through the platinum blonde of his hair, making his eyeliner run with tears. When he cums into his hand, the shame of jerking off to his classmate is far outweighed by how good it feels. 


	5. Chapter 5

Jeno is many things, but he's _not_ oblivious, and he knows Na Jaemin is weird. He's pretty sure everyone who's ever met him or been in the same class as him can tell right away, too, because he's cagey, and he's awkward when he probably thinks he's being friendly. Don't get him wrong, Jeno isn't the judging type, so he doesn't look down on Jaemin for it. Rather, he observes it, like he observes everyone, and he'd be lying if he said it didn't intrigue him.

Jaemin sits on the other side of their media studies class, in front of that creepy owl poster, and gazes out of the window so often he must know each blade of grass on the soccer field by sight alone. Jeno knows by now that there are three other places Jaemin is guaranteed to look during the period: at the movie they're meant to be watching, at his notebook, or at him- at Jeno.

At first, it was creepy. Jeno contemplated confronting the other boy, running the encounters through his head, imagining every different approach. He could act tough, push the guy around a little, ask him what the fuck his problem was, why he stared so goddamn much; the idea was a strong contender, especially in the earliest part of the school year, when it was so new and so odd to Jeno.

Fast forward to now, a few months on, and he's so accustomed to feeling eyes searing into the left side of his body that he's come to find the warmth familiar. Maybe not comfortable, he's not sure being stared at could ever feel _really_ comfy, but he's used to it. Instead of making a scene, and making Jaemin feel like a creep when he probably just has a crush, Jeno's imagined confrontations have become much more gentle. He could pull Jaemin aside quietly after class, make conversation, ease him into talking about it.

Jeno even imagined himself cracking some jokes, keeping the mood light, but Chenle says he's as funny as a bag of rocks (and just as intelligent), and- well, he _is_ Jeno's best friend, so he would know.

The dilemma of what to say and how to say it plagues Jeno for weeks, and he doodles in his notebook even more than usual, paying even less attention in media studies than he normally would. His teacher set a pretty lax schedule for the year anyway, so it's not like he could fail, unless he really put his mind to it.

He's pretty nerdy, and he knows it, which is fine- but Chenle does too, and he annoys Jeno about it an unholy amount. Chenle is so good at fucking around, on the other hand, that it comes naturally to him, and he has to fight that nature tooth and nail just to get by. The kid's diet of mountain dew, tic-tacs, and peanut butter cookies can't be doing anything to help, either.

Jeno had contemplated telling him about Jaemin, but it didn't seem quite right- Chenle wasn't completely tactless, he'd be serious about it, but something was still holding Jeno back. He surprised himself by figuring out that he's a little protective of Jaemin, somehow, finds his weirdness kind of endearing. Chalk it up to Jeno's grossly swollen ego, but that's the truth of the matter, and it makes him want to go easy on the other boy. He's also realised (not without a pang of moral guilt), that he'd be a lot more put off by Jaemin if he wasn't so hot. The fact that he is just makes the whole staring thing more palatable. 

π

Chenle slaps at Jeno's hand before he can itch at his hair, making him groan in frustration."No touching, JenJen," Chenle scolds in a singsong voice, like he's telling a toddler off for eating something off the floor.

"It's fucking burning my scalp, dude, I can feel it," Jeno whined indignantly. "Its gonna eat right through my skull soon, and then it'll dissolve my brain, and you'll be responsible."

Chenle just snorts and keeps applying the bleach on to Jeno's hair, the chemicals turning the brown locks to blonde already. "This was your idea, dummy, and I'm helping you. Do you want even coverage or not?"

That made Jeno forget his haughty act and start laughing. "Do you have to sound so obnoxiously gay, Lele?", Jeno asks, watching Chenle in the mirror and shifting slightly in the kitchen stool they've dragged to Chenle's bathroom for this procedure.

"Says you, getting your hair bleached by said obnoxiously gay friend", Chenle deadpans, eyes not moving from the task at hand. He's got a point, but Jeno will never admit it without some kind of torture involved.

"Do you think it'll look good?", he asks instead, watching Chenle work away at his hair. "It should," he answered. "we're gonna tone the shit out of it. I'm not having you going around with yellow hair and saying I'm the one that did it. My reputation is on the line here." And because he's completely serious, Jeno laughs, trying to use it as a distraction so he can try to itch his scalp again. "I _said_ don't! Touch!" Chenle says again as he slaps Jeno's hand away even harder than before.

Once Jeno's out of the shower, having dutifully rinsed out the treatments and conditioning with purple shampoo, Chenle blow-dries it for him. It's way too kind of Chenle to be doing this, but he's always been of a gestures-type guy. Jeno's mom would call it his love language, a line straight out of one of her self-help books she loves reading. Chenle just shrugs off Jeno's thanks when he half-shouts them over the sound of the dryer, but his smile when Jeno's hair is all done and styled betrays his satisfaction in the job he's done.

Jeno just stares at his reflection in disbelief, taking in his new look. The blonde is so bright and clean, hardly any hint of yellow, and there are no brown spots left to speak of. He looks hot, different, stands out in the best way. Chenle just follows Jeno's gaze in the mirror, looking smug, and it's completely justified. "Holy shit," Jeno says finally, running his hand delicately through the bright strands. "I know", Chenle replies simply, acknowledging what they both see but don't need to say. Jeno looks like a god. He keeps staring at his reflection in awe, until a thought pops into his kind seconds later, and he rounds on Chenle with his best puppy eyes. 

Chenle isn't fooled for a second, and exclaims indignantly, "what can you possibly want _now_?"

Jeno knows he's only playing at being exasperated, so he puts on his most winning smile and asks, "You know how you always have your eyeliner on point?..."

π

It's the very next day that Jaemin storms out of class and leaves his pencil case behind. This is Jeno's golden chance to speak to him, but any thought of asking the other boy uncomfortable questions goes straight out the window, once he gets to the second floor bathroom and sees how obviously distressed Jaemin is.

Instead, he just stands like an idiot and hands the pencil case over in the most lame way possible, his brain scrambled a little from being so up close and personal to the guy who's been staring at him for months. The moment happens so quickly it's like a blur, ink dipped in water, but Jeno feels oddly adrift once Jaemin walks past him and out of the bathroom.

He just looked so... _Scared_ , almost, pale and fidgety, unable to hold eye contact. Whatever he might think of the guy, he hadn't really done anything negative to Jeno, so the twinge in his chest at seeing Jaemin so ruffled had to be only natural. Jeno had had the most out-of-the-blue urge to reach out and touch his arm, give him some sort of comfort through contact. He was glad the urge had passed uneventfully- surely the last thing anyone would need when they were upset was an almost-stranger touching them. 

Jaemin sat front and centre in Jeno's mind for the rest of the day, their brief encounter in the bathroom playing in his brain on repeat. He was worried about him- anyone would be if they'd seen the state he was in, he reasoned. The part that kept taking centre stage in Jeno's mind was the look Jaemin had when their eyes had met. There was so much conflict there, uncertainty in the darkness of his pupils, hyper alertness in the brown of his irises. He'd looked like he'd wanted to say something more beyond the few words he'd mumbled, and Jeno laid in bed that night trying fruitlessly to guess what it could've been. What was on the tip of Jaemin's tongue, caught in his throat, wanting to get out?

An uncharacteristic shiver shot down Jeno's spine faster than a lightning strike, that cornered look in Jaemin's eyes feeling pasted over his psyche. Jeno came to the uneasy conclusion that he himself was fixated on Jaemin, too, in some small way.

He placated himself by reasoning that it was only Jaemin's apparent interest in him at the root of it, the way it was so flattering to his ego. It was a good enough explanation, and one that Jeno found himself unwilling to look into any further, at least for the foreseeable future.

His brain was hurting and he wanted nothing more than to forget about Na Jaemin for a nice, healthy chunk of time- he only hoped his own idiot brain decided to cooperate.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> -warning-  
> underage sexual activity happens in this chapter. The two people involved are 17 and 18 years old respectively. Please be aware of this, and do not read if it makes you uncomfortable in any way. xo

It's truly regretful that things have come to this, but in some ways it was a forgone conclusion. Not from the very start, but much earlier along that Jaemin would admit. It's hard enough for him to share the truth with himself, let alone anyone else, and that part might just scare him the most. That he has to lay down with himself in the quiet dark every night, his thoughts clinging closer than his blankets, is almost more than Jaemin can bear.

It was okay, it was at least manageable, until the bathroom incident, on the day Jeno came to school with bleached hair.

Jisung was an easy target, too easy, and Jaemin was almost ashamed of himself. Jisung's seventeen, not even fucking _legal_ , and even though he's eighteen himself, Jisung has always been that little brother figure to him, a kid.

Jaemin has been to every one of Jisung's birthday parties, his parents consider Jaemin to be the second child they'd never had, and he'd- Jaemin abruptly springs out of bed to stagger to the bathroom, throwing up scorching bile into the toilet. When he's finished puking up his dinner, he lays down on the cold tiles, eyes unfocused on the sailboats printed on the shower curtain.

The household is in a deep slumber all around him, and it makes Jaemin feel inconsequential, like prey dissolving in the belly of some great somnolent beast.

It was too easy- and he'd _enjoyed_ it, that was the worst part. It was easy to invite Jisung over while Jaemin's mom was at work, on another night shift in the ICU. He and Jisung were always at each other's houses, anyway, so it was a totally commonplace thing.

Jaemin knew Jisung was a virgin- it was hard not to, given how close they were, and how they'd spent their formative years seemingly within arm's reach of one another. Jisung had heard Jaemin regale him with stories of his conquests, grossly exaggerated tales made up to turn Jisung to a blushing mess. If Jaemin had only really given two guys head and had his ass fingered, that was for him to know, and Jisung to never find out.

Even though any mention of sexual activity made Jisung's ears and cheeks turn crimson, the fact remained the he was barely a year younger than Jaemin, and it showed. Jisung had become ridiculously tall, his wrists and knees had become dainty points, his voice had dropped to deep and resonant tones. He seemed so grown up, and so it was much too easy for Jaemin to sit next to him on the couch in Jaemin's basement bedroom, his legs resting comfortably on the younger boy's lap. This was nothing out of the ordinary; Jisung wasn't a fan of touchy feely shit, but Jaemin had always been one of few exceptions to the rule.

The lights in the room were off, and the two boys were illuminated only by the flashes of light from the tv. The Texas Chainsaw Massacre was playing, at Jaemin's insistence, and Jisung seemed enthusiastic enough to watch it, too- but, now that they were halfway through it, Jaemin kept catching him with his eyes squinted, blurring the images on the screen.

"You scared, Jisungie?" Jaemin asked suddenly, laughing at the jolt it scared out of him. "It's a movie about an evil, chainsaw-weilding psycho, Jaem, it's supposed to be scary", Jisung huffed, unwilling as always to be seen as fragile or childish. "Ooh, Jisungie's so tough!", Jaemin continued to tease, prodding a finger between the boy's prominent ribs and laughing happily. "Hey! Cut it out!", Jisung squirmed, "Mercy! Mercy!" 

Jaemin scowled and stopped poking Jisung immediately. Those were the rules: if the other person called mercy, the person doing the teasing had to stop, no questions asked. Jisung and Jaemin had decided the rule between themselves when they were in kindergarten, and it'd remained as gospel ever since.

Knowing he was in the clear, Jisung just answered Jaemin's scowl with his own beaming smile, leaning into Jaemin's side and pulling his arm to rest around his shoulders. Jaemin said nothing, but Jisung justified his actions just in case. "I'm still not scared, it's just comfier this way", he mumbled innocently. He snuck his right hand into the front pocket of Jaemin's grey hoodie, and turned his gaze back to the movie.

One of the lead women in the movie was being dissected in graphic fashion on the screen. Her blood was running off a makeshift surgery table in rivulets, trickling through the grates of a drain set into the filthy concrete floor. Jaemin watched the blood, mesmerised, feeling Jisung's heavy warmth against his body, and a strange twisting sensation settled it's clenched fists into Jaemin's stomach.

"Sungie", he'd said simply, and Jisung had looked up into his face straight away, always so obedient. Jaemin almost felt sorry for what he was about to do.

"Do you know how pretty you are, Jisung?" he asked quietly, his voice barely audible over the sound of screams on the tv. Jisung's blush was immediate and fathoms-deep. "I... I don't know", he started to say, stopping when Jaemin held his jaw in place with one firm hand. "Let me show you how pretty, Sung." Jisung couldn't turn away, his face held captive in Jaemin's grip. He closed the minimal space between them in one gesture, pressing his mouth up to Jisung's like a brand.

The other boy's lips were chapped, and clumsy, and Jaemin had a moment to think, awestruck: _he's never even kissed before has he oh my god what am I doing-_ until a ravenous ache seemed to settle into his throat, and he was coaxing his tongue past Jisung's chapped lips and into his mouth.

Then they were making out in earnest, Jisung's hands clutching at Jaemin's hoodie, trying to ground himself as Jaemin took his delicately angular jaw in his hands, licking over his tongue and teeth. The whimper that vibrated in Jisung's throat was enough to make Jaemin see red, his restraint snapping like dry kindling, flammable and dangerous.

He bit down on Jisung's fat bottom lip none too gently, pulling away and releasing the flesh from his teeth at the last moment. Jisung looked into Jaemin's face with uncertainty glazing his eyes. His hands were fidgeting with the hem of Jaemin's hoodie, and he was twisting a loose thread there around his finger absently. His voice was breathy and tiny when he asked, "Jaemin. More. Please, more?"

Jaemin said nothing, one hand resting against the back of Jisung's neck, the other sitting in his own lap. Still silent, he walked his free hand out of his lap and up Jisung's thigh, the fabric of his cotton pyjama shorts feeling flimsy under his fingertips. 

"Jisungie", he sing-songed, the sound clashing with the screaming and crying taking place in their forgotten movie. "Jaemin-" Jisung started, then stopped, his breath solidifying in his throat as Jaemin gripped his clothed thigh firmly enough to hurt. Jaemin just leaned in to keep kissing the younger boy, guiding him with the hand he had on his neck.

He kneaded at Jisung's thigh insistently, as Jisung sighed into his mouth. The younger boy ground out an aborted whine as Jaemin's hand ventured further up his thigh, over his clothes, the tips of his fingers making contact with Jisung's dick, sitting hard and aching in his shorts.

Jisung shivered, and Jaemin had a moment to reflect on how fucked up this was, that he shouldn't be doing it- Jisung was underage, his best friend, and he was only doing this because he couldn't get his hands on Lee Jeno.

It was with sick fascination that Jaemin realised he _could_ almost pretend it was Jeno's chiselled jaw in his hand, Jeno's plush lips he was kissing, Jeno's wet tongue he was tasting with his own.

Jaemin drew the hand on Jisung's thigh away just to dive in again, this time under the fabric of his shorts, running a clammy hand over soft skin. He wasn't wearing underwear, so Jaemin's fingertips grazed against soft pubic hair, the heat radiating from Jisung's hard cock making his stomach flip. 

Jisung pulled away from Jaemin's lips, making an indecently sloppy sound, and looked up into his face with a dazed expression. The flickering of the images on the tv screen danced across his face, making his expression impossible to read, but it didn't matter to Jaemin. Wordlessly, he pushed Jisung down onto the couch to sprawl on his back, kneeling between his spread legs.

He pulled Jisung's shorts down in one swift movement, uncovering his cock, his milky thighs, his balls. Jisung swallowed audibly, looking down at Jaemin as he appraised him in his most vulnerable state. "So beautiful," Jaemin reassured, skimming his nails with feather-lightness up each of Jisung's thighs, then up the shaft of his cock, making it twitch visibly.

Screams were emanating from the television as Jisung shuddered out a sentence. "I'm not sure I.... I think I want..." another loud swallow. "I haven't done this before, Jaem", he whispered, fear in his eyes. Jaemin shushed him, sealed his lips around the weeping head of Jisung's cock, and his words cut off immediately. He watched, mesmerised, at Jaemin, watching him lick and kiss around the head of his thick cock, teasing his tongue under the foreskin.

A girl on the tv was sobbing out desperately for someone to help her, her speech garbled, probably from having a mouthful of blood. Jaemin rolled Jisung's balls gently in one hand while he sucked, and Jisung's eyes rolled back in his head.

It was beautiful to watch, and Jaemin drank it in, wishing all the while that it was Jeno under him, at his mercy, taking all the pleasure Jaemin had to give. He closed his eyes and began sucking in earnest, Jisung's fingers twitching in nonsensical rhythm as they grasped his forearms. Jaemin held Jeno's image in his mind's eye as he quickened his pace.

Jisung was moaning uncontrollably, his thighs were clenching and unclenching, and all it took was a firm thumb stroking his perineum. Jisung shuddered, then tensed, and shot a huge load of come in Jaemin's mouth. He swallowed it all down, and sat up easily, smiling a little wryly at how wrecked and indecent Jisung looked. Jaemin just resumed watching the movie, smiling in detached amusement as the bad guy bisected some guy's torso.

There was the sound of Jisung pulling his shorts up, rearranging himself and sitting up; then a bony hand encircled his wrist lightly.

"Jaemin", he said, "why did you do that?" 

There were a million stars in his eyes when Jaemin turned to look at him, and a twinge of guilt set his teeth on edge. 

"It was nothing, Sung, just relax," he answered, trying not to sound annoyed. "You've been complaining for months that you didn't want to be a complete virgin anymore, right? So, problem solved." He put on his most convincing grin, and whether Jisung bought it or not, he moved to lean against Jaemin again.

They watched the rest of the movie, endless pints of blood being spilled in all their pixellated glory, and chattered away like normal. It was a little awkward, but Jaemin had that urge out of his system, for now, and he really _had_ almost convinced himself it was Jeno in Jisung's place. The fact that he'd used his childhood best friend like a band-aid, to staunch the flow of desire he had for Jeno, should have made him feel awful- but it didn't. All he could think about was how much he needed to touch Jeno, taste him, learn him. It was unfortunate that Jisung had to be collateral damage, but there was no gong back. Jaemin was firmly cemented in this. He had to have Jeno.


End file.
